Cracks in Reality (Seams in Reality Book 2)

by Siegel, Alex

  The chairman pounded a gavel and said, "The Committee will now come to order. Today, we will investigate public allegations that the United States Army is storing biological weapons at the Mumford Army Base. I would remind the members of the Committee that the United States is a signatory of the Biological Weapons Convention which entered into force on March 26, 1975. If the Army is keeping such weapons in its inventory, it would have very serious ramifications both domestically and internationally. I sincerely hope that is not the case. Our first witness is General James Ross of the United States Army. General Ross, please describe your current assignment and areas of responsibility."

  The general straightened up and cleared his throat. "Gladly, senator. I'm the commander of the Physical Containment Facility which is located on Mumford Army Base. To be specific, the P.C.F. is beneath Montaña de la Serpiente, a mountain in the northern part of the base. The rumors of biological weapons refer to that location."

  The Vault, Andrew thought.

  "A secret facility is actually there?" the chairman said.

  His hair was gray, but it was very well groomed. A slightly tanned face gave him a healthy glow. He had the whitest teeth Andrew had ever seen on a man.

  "Affirmative, senator," Ross said. "It is my primary responsibility."

  "I've never heard of it before," the chairman said. "What does it contain?"

  "392 physical containment units."

  "What are those?" the chairman said.

  "Essentially, locked steel boxes."

  "Which contain something, I presume."

  "Yes," Ross said.

  "What do they contain?" the chairman said in an impatient tone.

  "I have no idea."

  "You honestly don't know?"

  "That's correct," Ross said. "My duty is to guard the boxes and keep them safe against all possible threats. It's a top secret special access program. I am specifically forbidden from knowing what's in the boxes."

  "That's ridiculous."

  The members of the Committee murmured to each other.

  Ross nodded. "I agree, but I'm fairly certain they don't contain biological weapons. The boxes aren't refrigerated or kept in a sterile environment. My staff employs none of the precautions normally associated with infectious disease, and I'm not aware of any suspicious illnesses."

  The chairman glared at the general. "Is there anybody who can tell the Committee what's in those boxes?"

  "Yes. Him." Ross pointed at Director Webster.

  "Come to the microphone," the chairman ordered.

  Webster took the general's place at the witness table. "I'm Director Frank Webster. I command the Bureau of Physical Investigation which is part of the Department of Homeland Security."

  "Never heard of it."

  "We keep a low profile, senator."

  "Obviously," the chairman said. "What's in the boxes?"

  "I'm afraid I can't tell you."

  "You don't know either?"

  "I know," Webster said. "I'm just not allowed to tell you. Federal law forbids it."

  "Which law?" the chairman replied in an angry tone.

  "The Physical Defense Act of 1948 as amended in 1952. 'No member of the Bureau of Physical Investigation shall reveal the nature or details of the Bureau's operations to a person who is not specifically authorized to possess such information.'"

  "I'm a senior member of Congress. I'm not authorized?"

  "No, sir," Webster said. "The law is specific. The list of authorized parties includes sworn agents of the Bureau, employees, contractors with a special waiver, and certain individuals who naturally fall within the mandate of the Bureau."

  Sorcerers, Andrew thought.

  "You're on the edge of being held in contempt," the chairman said. "When this Committee asks questions, we expect answers."

  "The law is the law. If you don't like it, change it. You have that power."

  "I've never even heard of the Physical Defense Act!"

  "It's on the books, and I must abide by it," Webster said. "I will tell you those boxes do not contain infectious, toxic, or radioactive material. They are completely innocuous under normal conditions. They do not represent a treaty violation. If you want, I'll swear to that statement under oath, and I can produce many other witnesses who will do the same. My assistants will happily do so now." He glanced towards the back of the room.

  "Then why are the boxes top secret?" the chairman said. "Why is an Army general responsible for guarding them?"

  "I honestly wish I could tell you, senator."

  "That's not a satisfying answer. What would happen if we eliminated the budget of both your programs? As far as I know, there is no reason for the Physical Containment Facility or the Bureau of Physical Investigation to even exist. You could be wasting taxpayer dollars storing cotton candy."

  "That would be very unwise," Webster said. "The materials in question are innocuous only because they are securely stored. If they fell into the wrong hands, millions of lives would be at risk."

  "Sounds like a dangerous weapon after all. Why don't you destroy the materials?"

  "They have enormous value. The framers of the Physical Defense Act felt the materials should be preserved for the benefit to future generations. But until we learn how to handle them safely, General Ross must continue to perform his critically important duty."

  Another senator spoke up. She was a woman with perfectly coiffed blonde hair. A white shirt and a dark red jacket was a stylish yet dignified combination. Her nameplate read, "McCaskill."

  "I saw a story that aliens were being kept in the mountain," she said.

  "That's not true," Webster said.

  "It would explain all the secrecy and security."

  "Perhaps, but the story still isn't true."

  "You're very good at denials, Mr. Webster," McCaskill said, "but when it comes to providing information, you fall far short."

  "My deepest apologies, ma'am. I hold your work in the highest regard. I wish I could be more helpful."

  The members of the committee whispered to each other.

  "I heard another rumor before coming here," another committee member said. "Time travel experiments are being performed under Montaña de la Serpiente."

  Webster shook his head. "That's ridiculous, senator."

  "I saw a science show that claimed time travel was possible."

  The discussion continued, becoming increasingly silly and irrelevant.

  Eventually, the chairman said, "Obviously, we need to do some research before this hearing can proceed. I want to read the Physical Defense Act with my own eyes, if it exists. My staff will prepare summaries of your budgets. We will reconvene tomorrow and have a more productive discussion." He pounded his gavel.

  Everybody stood up. The senators left through a door in the back of the room, and the audience left through the front.

  Andrew and Charley tried to catch up to Webster as he left, but he waved them back. He had other agents with him and obviously didn't think it was a good time for a conversation.

  "I guess we don't need to talk to him anyway," Andrew said. "Not much to say."

  Charley nodded. "That was a very uncomfortable hearing."

  "Yeah. We should head out to Manassas. There could be traffic."

  The apprentices picked up their pace.

  * * *

  Andrew looked up at a banner that read, "The Manassas National Battlefield Park Celebrates Our Hispanic Heritage!"

  "A little obvious," he said, "but it works."

  He and Charley had changed back into ordinary clothes. She was wearing a sweater again, and today's selection was fuzzy and purple. A nylon vest provided a little extra warmth on a cool, humid day.

  Tungsten followed, and he was also dressed casually. A black leather jacket was barely big enough for his massive chest and shoulders. He also had heavy denim workpants and boots suitable for digging ditches.

  They were walking towards the seam in the center of the Manassas battlefiel
d. A small crowd had gathered there around a temporary stage. Most of the attendees had microphones and cameras, and clearly, the event was intended for media consumption. Andrew saw only a handful of genuine tourists at the edge of the crowd.

  Four Hispanic women in very colorful, flowing dresses were dancing on the stage. Guitarists in black costumes provided musical accompaniment. They were trying to put energy into the performance, but the small stage looked tiny in the middle of a vast, grassy field. The sound of unamplified guitars was almost lost in the breeze. It was a pathetic celebration.

  It had accomplished its purpose though. Miranda Torres was standing in the midst of the crowd with a cameraman at her side. She wasn't directly under the seam, but she was close enough for Andrew to get the job done.

  Richard was watching from the side in his usual gray Civil War costume. The master sorcerer was staring directly at Andrew and Charley as they approached. He was frowning severely, but he didn't move to intervene.

  "This had better work," Andrew muttered.

  Charley nodded. "Just get in and out without letting her know you're there. Be respectful. Don't go rampaging through her mind."

  They approached Miranda without getting her attention. Power flowing from the Manassas Seam made Andrew's brain buzz like he had drank too much coffee. His awareness expanded, and the gears in his mind turned quicker. A storm of black energy made the air seem greasy.

  He glanced nervously at Richard. The master sorcerer turned angrily and walked off.

  Andrew focused on Miranda and quickly slipped into her mind. He touched her thoughts lightly just to see what they were.

  Her opinion of the Hispanic celebration matched his. It was pathetic to the point of being insulting to her heritage. She was mentally crafting a report which would slam the National Park Service for putting on the show.

  Andrew guided her mind towards the topic of biological weapons. She instantly felt profound guilt and regret. She knew the story was bogus. A criminal acquaintance had blackmailed her into producing the news report.

  Andrew probed a little deeper, and ugly memories of a life in Las Vegas surfaced. Miranda had worked as a prostitute for a few years. Eventually, she had found true love and had moved on, but she hadn't completely escaped her past. Once in a while, she was told to do certain things if she wanted to keep her family and career intact.

  I need a name, Andrew thought.

  "Fernando Martinez" popped into Miranda's mind. Andrew saw a brown face riddled with acne scars.

  Andrew gently withdrew.

  "Let's get out of here," he whispered to Charley and Tungsten.

  The three of them walked back towards the visitor's center.

  "Did you get something?" Tungsten said.

  "Yes." Andrew related what he had learned.

  "That's amazing. It only took a couple of minutes. I don't understand why sorcery isn't used for interrogation more often."

  "Because it's completely unethical," Charley replied with open hostility. "Andrew just pried into that woman's darkest, most humiliating secrets. He violated her privacy worse than if he had stripped her naked in public. It's a good thing she has no idea what just happened."

  Andrew's face grew warm. He couldn't argue with her.

  He detected the energy of another sorcerer ahead. Richard was standing by the visitor's center with the clear intention of confronting Andrew.

  When they were close enough to talk privately, Andrew said. "Webster set this up. He approved."

  "The Sorcerer's Tribunal didn't have a say," Richard said. "I was simply notified this morning."

  "That's not my fault."

  "You didn't have to go through with it. You could've consulted with me or Tonya first."

  "Blake is causing more trouble than ever," Andrew said. "We have to get him. This is our best lead."

  "There are lines we do not cross even in war. There are acts honorable men do not commit. This distinction is what separates us from beasts like Blake. It is why we still deserve our freedom."

  Andrew sighed. He didn't have a strong counter-argument, but he still felt like he had acted properly. Blake's horrendous crimes justified desperate acts.

  "Maybe if you knew what was really going on...," Andrew said.

  "No!" Charley said. "Don't tell him. We're already up to our necks in this mess. There is no reason to drag him down with us."

  Richard nodded. "She's right. It's probably better for me to remain ignorant, but I'll leave you with some advice. This crisis will end someday, and there will be an accounting. Make sure your ledger is square." He stomped off in the grass.

  Andrew, Charley, and Tungsten walked around to the car. The ex-soldier sat in front, and the apprentices took their usual seats in back.

  "Don't let that guy bother you," Tungsten said. "Nobody comes out of a war smelling like a rose. Sometimes we have to smudge the rules to win."

  "That's fine for you," Charley said. "We're sorcerers. If we go too far, mobs of peasants armed with pitchforks and torches come after us. We get burned at the stake."

  He grunted. "That's a good point."

  "Let's just continue with the investigation," Andrew said. "We need to find Fernando Martinez, and I have his description."

  "Weasel can do it."

  * * *

  It was Andrew's second visit, and he still thought Weasel secret hacker's lair was super-cool. Glass shelves held spare computer components with an astonishing variety of shapes from tiny microchips to motherboards as big as a dinner plate. The diffuse lighting was precisely arranged to prevent any glare on the screens. All the electricity went through a box the size of a washing machine which emitted a low hum.

  Tungsten was looking over Weasel's shoulder, and Andrew and Charley were further back. The apprentices were holding hands.

  "Fernando Martinez," Weasel said, "notorious gangster. Served ten years for robbery and drug trafficking. Indicted for murder but acquitted. The victim was his own sister."

  Tungsten grimaced. "How unpleasant."

  "I can locate him by triangulating his phone. How did you get his name?"

  "Special methods."

  Weasel raised his eyebrows.

  "The guy delivered orders to Miranda Torres," Andrew said. "We have to walk backwards along the communication chain until we get to Blake. Can you check Martinez's phone records?"

  "I can," Weasel said, "but I don't think it will do much good. We've already established we're dealing with top-flight hackers. They won't make regular phone calls."

  "Martinez won't give up the information easily," Tungsten said. "Arresting him certainly won't do any good. You can't scare a hardcore thug like that."

  "I don't want to torture or beat him," Charley said. "That kind of violence is wrong, even for a hardcore thug."

  Tungsten glanced down with an uncertain expression.

  "Then we'll have to be tricky," Andrew said. "What if we just shook him up real bad? He might call for help, and we can see who he calls."

  Tungsten nodded. "That's a good idea."

  "I'll give you some bugs to plant," Weasel said.

  Andrew turned to him. "You have bugs?"

  Weasel smiled.

  * * *

  Andrew, Charley, and Tungsten were walking down a street which looked more like a back alley. Dilapidated homes made of wood and brick were packed together on tiny lots. The lawns were more weeds than grass. Some window frames were filled with cardboard, plywood, or garbage bags instead of glass.

  "I'll take the lead," Tungsten said. "Stay back. If the gangsters pull guns on us, just dive for the nearest cover."

  "What will you do?" Charley said.

  "Respond appropriately."

  The team had switched back to the blue suits of federal agents. They were well armed and wearing vests underneath their shirts, but Andrew still didn't feel safe. He was happy to let Tungsten be the tough guy this time.

  They came to a two-story, green house. Stucco walls were so badly cr
acked, chunks had fallen out. Iron burglar bars covered all the windows, making the home look like a tiny jail.

  Tungsten walked up a concrete staircase and pounded on the door with his fist. Andrew and Charley hung back a few paces. Tungsten took a handful of jumbo nylon cable ties out of his pocket.

  The door opened, and a Hispanic teenager looked out. He was shirtless despite the cool weather, and tattoos covered his hairless chest.

  "What do you want?" the teenager barked.

  Tungsten kicked the door open, grabbed the teenager by the neck, and threw him violently to the floor. The victim was too stunned to get back up. Tungsten walked into the house and used a cable tie to bind the teenager's hands behind his back.

  "A dramatic entrance," Andrew said.

  "Very," Charley replied in an unhappy tone.

  They followed Tungsten inside, and Andrew immediately smelled cigarette smoke. The front room had a couch covered with stained, torn fabric. Drug paraphernalia and beer cans covered a coffee table. The television was suspiciously large and new.

  Tungsten was moving quickly through the house. Andrew could follow his progress by the banging and yelling mixed with sharp cries of pain. It sounded like an entire team was assaulting the house instead of just one man.

  "I thought we weren't going to resort to violence," Charley said. "You heard me say that, right?"

  Andrew nodded. "You definitely said something like that."

  "Good."

  The teenager who had come to the door was stirring. He clumsily pulled up his right pant leg to reveal a small, cheap revolver in a holster. Andrew kicked the teenager in the ribs, grabbed the revolver, and threw it across the room.

  Charley clucked unhappily and shook her head.

  Tungsten returned to the front room with a captive. Andrew recognized the scarred, ugly face of Fernando Martinez from the exploration of Miranda's mind. Fernando was wearing a yellow nylon windbreaker and black pants. Loops of gold chain hung from his neck. He was tall and skinny.

  "Look what I got here," Tungsten said with a grin.

  Fernando struggled, but Tungsten had him in a brutal arm lock. Three fingers on Fernando's right hand were obviously broken.